The Lightnin Thief
by fourtris and percabeth 5ever
Summary: So this is basically 'The lightning Theif' except its tranzizzle by


Look, I didn't wanna be a half-blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg!

If yo ass is readin dis cuz you be thinkin you might be one, mah lyrics is: close dis book n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do. Believe what-ever lie yo' momma or dad holla'd at you bout yo' birth, n' try ta lead a normal life.

Bein a half-blood is dangerous. It aint nuthin but scary. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Most of tha time, it gets you capped up in painful, nasty ways.

If yo ass be a normal kid, readin dis cuz you be thinkin itz fiction, pimped out. Read on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I envy you fo' bein able ta believe dat none of dis eva happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

But if you recognize yo ass up in these pages-if you feel somethang stirrin inside-stop readin immediately. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Yo ass might be one of our asses fo' realz. And once you know that, itz only a mat-ter of time before they sense it too, n' they'll come fo' yo thugged-out ass.

Don't say I didn't warn yo thugged-out ass.

Hoes call me Percy Jackson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

I be twelve muthafuckin years old. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Until a gangbangin' few months ago, I was a funky-ass boardin student at Yancy Academy, a private school fo' shitd lil playas up in upstate New York.

Am I a shitd kid?

Yeah. Yo ass could say dat shit.

I could start at any point up in mah short miserable thuglife ta prove it yo, but things straight-up started goin bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a gangbangin' field trip ta Manhattan- twenty-eight menstrual-case lil playas n' two mackdaddys on a yellow school bus, headin ta tha Metropolitan Museum of Art ta peep ancient Greek n' Roman stuff.

I know-it soundz like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mista Muthafuckin Brunner, our Latin mackdaddy, was leadin dis trip, so I had hopes.

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner was dis middle-aged playa up in a motorized wheelchair yo. Dude had thinnin afro n' a scruffy beard n' a gangbangin' frayed tchronic jacket, which always smelled like coffee. Yo ass wouldn't be thinkin he'd be def yo, but he holla'd at stories n' jokes n' let our asses play game up in class yo. Dude also had dis phat collection of Roman armor n' weapons, so da thug was tha only mackdaddy whose class didn't put me ta chill.

I hoped tha trip would be aiiight. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke fo' realz. At least, I hoped dat fo' once I wouldn't git up in shit.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen ta me on field trips. Like at mah fifth-grade school, when our crazy asses went ta tha Saratoga battlefield, I had dis accident wit a Revolutionary Battle cannon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I wasn't aimin fo' tha school bus yo, but of course I gots expelled anyway. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke fo' realz. And before that, at mah fourth-grade school, when our crazy asses took a funky-ass behind- the-scenes tour of tha Marine Ghetto shark pool, I sort of hit tha wrong lever on tha catstrutt n' our class took a unplanned swim fo' realz. And tha time before that... Well, you git tha idea.

This trip, I was determined ta be good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg!

All tha way tha fuck into tha hood, I put up wit Nancy Bobofit, tha freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hittin mah dopest playa Grover up in tha back of tha head wit chunkz of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was a easy as target yo. Dude was scrawny. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke yo. Dude cried when he gots frustrated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time yo. Dude must've been held back nuff muthafuckin grades, cuz da thug was tha only sixth grader wit acne n' tha start of a wispy beard on his chin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On top of all that, da thug was crippled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude had a note excusin his ass from PE fo' tha rest of his thuglife cuz he had some kind of muscular disease up in his fuckin legs yo. Dude strutted funny, like every last muthafuckin step hurt his ass yo, but don't let dat fool yo thugged-out ass. Yo ass should've peeped his ass run when it was enchilada dizzle up in tha cafeteria.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwin wadz of sandwich dat stuck up in his curly brown hair, n' she knew I couldn't do anythang back ta her cuz I was already on probation. Da headmasta had threatened mah crazy ass wit dirtnap by in-school suspendaz if anythang bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertainin happened on dis trip.

"I be goin ta bust a cap up in her, " I mumbled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Grover tried ta calm me down. "It aint nuthin but aiiight. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I like peanut butter. "

Dude dodged another piece of Nancyz lunch.

"Thatz dat shit. " I started ta git up yo, but Grover pulled mah crazy ass back ta mah seat.

"You're already on probation, " he reminded mah dirty ass. "Yo ass know who'll git blamed if anythang happens. "

Lookin back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then n' there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. In-school suspendaz would've been not a god damn thang compared ta tha mess I was bout ta git mah dirty ass into.

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner led tha museum tour.

Dude rode up front up in his wheelchair, guidin our asses all up in tha big-ass echoey galleries, past marble statues n' glass cases full of straight-up oldschool black-and-orange pottery.

It blew mah mind dat dis shiznit had survived fo' two thousand, three thousand years.

Dude gathered our asses around a thirteen-foot-tall stone col-umn wit a funky-ass big-ass sphinx on tha top, n' started spittin some lyrics ta our asses how tha fuck it was a grave marker, a stele, fo' a ho bout our age yo. Dude holla'd at our asses bout tha carvings on tha sides. I was tryin ta dig what tha fuck he had ta say, cuz it was kind of interestin yo, but dem hoes around mah crazy ass was rappin', n' every last muthafuckin time I holla'd at dem ta shut tha fuck up, tha other mackdaddy chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me tha evil eye.

Mrs. Doddz was dis lil math mackdaddy from Georgia whoz ass always wore a funky-ass black leather jacket, even though dat biiiiatch was fifty muthafuckin years old. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch looked mean enough ta ride a Harley right tha fuck into yo' locker. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had come ta Yancy halfway all up in tha year, when our last math mackdaddy had a straight-up trippin breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Doddz loved Nancy Bobofit n' figured I was devil spawn. Biatch would point her crooked finger all up in mah grill n' say, "Now, honey, " real dope, n' I knew I was goin ta git after-school detention fo' a month.

One time, afta she'd busted mah crazy ass erase lyrics outta oldschool math workbooks until midnight, I holla'd at Grover I didn't be thinkin Mrs. Doddz was human. Dude looked at me, real serious, n' holla'd, "You're straight-up right. "

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner kept rappin' bout Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered somethang bout tha naked playa on tha stele, n' I turned around n' holla'd, "Will you shut tha fuck up?"

It came up louder than I meant it to.

Da whole crew laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Mista Muthafuckin Brunner stopped his story. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.

"Mista Muthafuckin Jackson, " da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "did you gots a cold-ass lil comment?"

My fuckin grill was straight-up red. I holla'd, "Fuck dat shit, sir. "

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner pointed ta one of tha pictures on tha stele. "Perhaps yo dirty ass is gonna tell our asses what tha fuck dis picture represents?"

I looked all up in tha carving, n' felt a gangbangin' flush of relief, cuz I muthafuckin recognized dat shit. "Thatz Kronos smokin his kids, right?"

"Yes, " Mista Muthafuckin Brunner holla'd, obviously not satisfied. "And da ruffneck did dis cuz ... "

"Well... " I racked mah dome ta remember. "Kronos was tha mackdaddy god, and-"

"God?" Mista Muthafuckin Brunner axed.

"Titan, " I erected mah dirty ass. "And .. yo. Dude didn't trust his kids, whoz ass was tha gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right, biatch? But his hoe hid baby Zeus, n' gave Kronos a rock ta smoke instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his fuckin lil' dad, Kronos, tha fuck into barfin up his bruthas n' sisters-"

"Eeew!" holla'd one of tha hoes behind mah dirty ass.

"-and so there was dis big-ass fight between tha godz n' tha Titans, " I continued, "and tha godz won. "

Some snickers from tha group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled ta a gangbangin' playa, "Like we're goin ta bust dis up in real life. Like itz goin ta say on our thang applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids. '"

"And why, Mista Muthafuckin Jackson, " Brunner holla'd, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofitz pimpin question, do dis matter up in real life?"

"Busted, " Grover muttered.

"Shut up, " Nancy hissed, her grill even brighter red than her hair.

At least Nancy gots packed, too. Mista Muthafuckin Brunner was tha only one whoz ass eva caught her sayin anythang wrong yo. Dude had radar ears.

I thought bout his question, n' shrugged. "I don't give a fuck, sir. "

"I see. " Mista Muthafuckin Brunner looked pissed tha fuck type'a shizzle happens all tha time. "Well, half credit, Mista Muthafuckin Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard n' wine, which busted his ass disgorge his other five children, who, of course, bein immortal gods, had been livin n' growin up straight-up undigested up in tha Titanz stomach. Da godz defeated they father, sliced his ass ta pieces wit his own scythe, n' scattered his bangin remains up in Tartarus, tha darkest part of tha Underghetto. On dat aiiight note, itz time fo' lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead our asses back outside?"

Da class drifted off, tha hoes holdin they stomachs, tha pimps pushin each other around n' actin like doo-fuses.

Grover n' I was bout ta follow when Mista Muthafuckin Brunner holla'd, "Mista Muthafuckin Jackson. "

I knew dat was coming.

I holla'd at Grover ta keep going. Then I turned toward Mista Muthafuckin Brunner. "Sir?"

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner had dis look dat wouldn't let you go- intense brown eyes dat could've been a thousand muthafuckin years oldschool n' had peeped every last muthafuckin thang.

"Yo ass must learn tha answer ta mah question, " Mista Muthafuckin Brunner holla'd at mah dirty ass.

"Bout tha Titans?"

"Bout real thuglife fo' realz. And how tha fuck yo' studies apply ta dat shit. "

"Oh. "

"What you learn from me, " da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "is vitally blingin. I expect you ta treat it as such. I will accept only tha dopest from you, Percy Jackson. "

I wanted ta git supa pissed, dis playa pushed mah crazy ass so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of def on tournament days, when da ruffneck dressed up in a suit of Roman armor n' shouted: "What ho!'" n' challenged us, sword-point against chalk, ta run ta tha board n' name every last muthafuckin Greek n' Roman person whoz ass had eva lived, n' they mother, n' what tha fuck god they worshipped. But Mista Muthafuckin Brunner expected mah crazy ass ta be as phat as dem hoes else, despite tha fact dat I have dyslexia n' attention deficit disorder n' I had never busted above a C- up in mah life. No-he didn't expect me ta be as good; he expected mah crazy ass ta be mo' betta fo' realz. And I just couldn't learn all dem names n' facts, much less spell dem erectly.

I mumbled somethang bout tryin harder, while Mista Muthafuckin Brunner took one long fucked up peep tha stele, like he'd been at dis girlz funeral.

Dude holla'd at mah crazy ass ta go outside n' smoke mah lunch.

Da class gathered on tha front stepz of tha museum, where our crazy asses could watch tha foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a big-ass storm was brewing, wit cloudz blacker than I'd eva peeped over tha hood. I figured maybe it was global warmin or something, cuz tha weather all across New York state had been weird since Chrizzle. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightnin strikes. I wouldn't done been surprised if dis was a hurricane blowin in.

No Mothafucka else seemed ta notice. Some of tha pimps was peltin pigeons wit Lunchablez crackers. Nancy Bobofit was tryin ta pickpocket somethang from a ladyz purse, and, of course, Mrs. Doddz wasn't seein a thing.

Grover n' I sat on tha edge of tha fountain, away from tha others. Our thugged-out asses thought dat maybe if our crazy asses did that, dem hoes wouldn't know our crazy asses was from dat school-the school fo' weak-ass muthafucka freaks whoz ass couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover axed.

"Nah, " I holla'd. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean-I aint a smart-ass . "

Grover didn't say anythang fo' a while. Then, when I thought da thug was goin ta give me some deep philosophical comment ta make me feel better, da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "Can I have yo' apple?"

I didn't have much of a appetite, so I let his ass take dat shit.

I watched tha stream of cabs goin down Fifth Avenue, n' thought bout mah momz crib, only a lil ways uptown from where our crazy asses sat. I hadn't peeped her since Chrizzle. I wanted so bad ta jump up in a taxi n' head home. She'd gangbang me n' be glad ta peep me yo yo, but she'd be pissed tha fuck off, too. She'd bust me right back ta Yancy, remind mah crazy ass dat I had ta try harder, even if dis was mah sixth school up in six muthafuckin years n' I was probably goin ta be kicked up again. I wouldn't be able ta stand dat fucked up look she'd give mah dirty ass.

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner parked his wheelchair all up in tha base of tha handicapped ramp yo. Dude ate celery while he read a paperback novel fo' realz. A red umbrella stuck up from tha back of his chair, bustin it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was bout ta unwrap mah sandwich when Nancy Bobofit rocked up in front of me wit her skanky playas-I guess she'd gotten chillaxed of jackin from tha tourists-and dumped her half-eaten lunch up in Groverz lap.

"Oops. " Biatch grinned all up in mah grill wit her crooked teeth yo yo. Her frecklez was orange, as if some muthafucka had spray- painted her grill wit liquid Cheetos.

I tried ta stay def. Da school counselor had holla'd at mah crazy ass a mazazillion times, "Count ta ten, git control of yo' temper." But I was so mad mah mind went blank fo' realz. A wave roared up in mah ears.

I don't remember touchin her yo, but tha next thang I knew, Nancy was chillin on her butt up in tha fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Doddz materialized next ta us.

Some of tha lil playas was whispering: "Did yo dirty ass see-"

"-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

I didn't give a fuck what tha fuck they was rappin' bout fo' realz. All I knew was dat I was up in shizzle again.

As soon as Mrs. Doddz was shizzle skanky lil Nancy was aiiight, promisin ta git her a freshly smoked up hoodie all up in tha museum gift shop, etc. , etc. , Mrs. Doddz turned on mah dirty ass. There was a triumphant fire up in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waitin fo' all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know, " I grumbled. "A month erasin workbooks. "

That wasn't tha right thang ta say.

"Come wit me, " Mrs. Doddz holla'd.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was mah dirty ass. I pushed her muthafuckin ass. "

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe da thug was tryin ta cover fo' mah dirty ass. Mrs. Doddz scared Grover ta dirtnap.

Biatch glared at his ass so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't be thinkin so, Mista Muthafuckin Underwood, " her big-ass booty holla'd.

"But-"

"You-will-stay-here. "

Grover looked all up in mah grill desperately.

"It aint nuthin but aiiight, man, " I holla'd at his muthafuckin ass. "Thanks fo' trying. "

"Honey, " Mrs. Doddz barked all up in mah face. "Now. "

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her mah deluxe I be bout ta-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned ta grill Mrs. Doddz yo, but dat biiiiatch wasn't there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Biatch was standin all up in tha museum entrance, way all up in tha top of tha steps, gesturin impatiently all up in mah grill ta come on.

How'd she git there so fast?

I have moments like dat a lot, when mah dome falls asleep or something, n' tha next thang I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell outta tha universe n' left me starin all up in tha blank place behind dat shit. Da school counselor holla'd at mah crazy ass dis was part of tha ADHD, mah dome misinterpretin things.

I wasn't so sure.

I went afta Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up tha steps, I glanced back at Grover yo. Dude was lookin pale, cuttin his wild lil' fuckin eyes between me n' Mista Muthafuckin Brunner, like da thug wanted Mista Muthafuckin Brunner ta notice what tha fuck was goin on yo, but Mista Muthafuckin Brunner was absorbed up in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Doddz had disrocked up again. Biatch was now inside tha building, all up in tha end of tha entrizzle hall.

Okay, I thought. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shez goin ta make me cop a freshly smoked up hoodie fo' Nancy all up in tha gift shop.

But apparently dat wasn't tha plan.

I followed her deeper tha fuck into tha museum. When I finally caught up ta her, our crazy asses was back up in tha Greek n' Roman section.

Except fo' us, tha gallery was empty.

Mrs. Doddz stood wit her arms crossed up in front of a funky-ass big-ass marble frieze of tha Greek gods. Biatch was bustin dis weird noise up in her throat, like growling.

Even without tha noise, I would've been nervous. It aint nuthin but weird bein ridin' solo wit a mackdaddy, especially Mrs. Dodds. Somethang bout tha way she looked all up in tha frieze, as if dat biiiiatch wanted ta pulverize dat shit...

"You've been givin our asses problems, honey, " her big-ass booty holla'd.

I did tha safe thing. I holla'd, "Yes, ma'am. "

Biatch tugged on tha cuffz of her leather jacket. "Did yo dirty ass straight-up be thinkin you would git away wit it?"

Da look up in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

Shez a mackdaddy, I thought nervously. It aint nuthin but not like her ass is goin ta hurt mah dirty ass.

I holla'd, "I be bout ta-I be bout ta try harder, ma'am. "

Thunder shook tha building.

"Our thugged-out asses is not fools, Percy Jackson, " Mrs. Doddz holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "It was only a matter of time before our crazy asses found you out. Confess, n' you betta recognize less pain. "

I didn't give a fuck what tha fuck dat biiiiatch was rappin' about.

All I could be thinkin of was dat tha mackdaddys must've found tha illegal stash of candy I'd been pushin outta mah dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I gots mah essay on Tomothy Sawyer from tha Internizzle without eva readin tha book n' now they was goin ta take away mah grade. Or worse, they was goin ta make me read tha book.

"Well?" her dope ass demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't... "

"Yo Crazy-Ass time is up, " she hissed.

Then tha weirdest thang happened. Her eyes fuckin started ta glow like barbecue coals yo. Her fingers stretched, turnin tha fuck into talons yo. Her jacket melted tha fuck into large, leathery wings. Biatch wasn't human. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was a shriveled hag wit bat wings n' claws n' a grill full of yellow fangs, n' dat biiiiatch was bout ta slice me ta ribbons.

Then things gots even stranger.

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner, who'd been up in front of tha museum a minute before, wheeled his chair tha fuck into tha doorway of tha gallery, holdin a pen up in his hand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

"What ho, Percy!" da perved-out muthafucka shouted, n' tossed tha pen all up in tha air.

Mrs. Doddz lunged all up in mah face.

With a yelp, I dodged n' felt talons slash tha air next ta mah ear. I snatched tha ballpoint pen outta tha air yo, but when it hit mah hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword-Mista Muthafuckin Brunnerz bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Doddz spun toward mah crazy ass wit a murderous look up in her eyes.

My fuckin knees was jelly. My fuckin handz was bobbin so bad I almost dropped tha sword.

Biatch snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight all up in mah face.

Absolute terror ran all up in mah body. I did tha only thang dat came naturally: I swung tha sword.

Da metal blade hit her shoulder n' passed clean all up in her body as if dat biiiiatch was busted of gin n juice yo. Hisss!

Mrs. Doddz was a sand castle up in a juice fan. Biatch blew up like a muthafucka tha fuck into yellow powder, vaporized on tha spot, leavin not a god damn thang but tha smell of sulfur n' a thugged-out dyin screech n' a cold-ass lil chill of evil up in tha air, as if dem two glowin red eyes was still watchin mah dirty ass.

I was ridin' solo.

There was a funky-ass ballpoint pen up in mah hand.

Mista Muthafuckin Brunner wasn't there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. No Mothafucka was there but mah dirty ass.

My fuckin handz was still trembling. My fuckin lunch must've been contaminizzled wit mushrooms or some-thing.

Had I imagined tha whole thing?

I went back outside.

It had started ta rain.

Grover was chillin by tha fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standin there, soaked from her swim up in tha fountain, grumblin ta her skanky playas. When her big-ass booty saw me, her big-ass booty holla'd, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped yo' butt. "

I holla'd, "Who?"

"Our mackdaddy. Duh!"

I blinked. Our thugged-out asses had no mackdaddy named Mrs. Kerr. I axed Nancy what tha fuck dat biiiiatch was rappin' about.

Biatch just rolled her eyes n' turned away.

I axed Grover where Mrs. Doddz was.

Dude holla'd, "Who?"

But he paused first, n' da thug wouldn't peep me, so I thought da thug was messin wit mah dirty ass.

"Not funny, man, " I holla'd at his muthafuckin ass. "This is straight-up n shit. "

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mista Muthafuckin Brunner chillin under his bangin red umbrella, read-in his book, as if he'd never moved.

I went over ta his muthafuckin ass.

Dude looked up, a lil distracted. "Ah, dat would be mah pen. Please brang yo' own freestylin utensil up in tha future, Mista Muthafuckin Jackson. "

I handed Mista Muthafuckin Brunner his thugged-out lil' pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holdin dat shit.

"Sir, " I holla'd, "wherez Mrs. Dodds?"

Dude stared all up in mah grill blankly. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Who?"

"Da other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. Da pre-algebra mackdaddy. "

Dude frowned n' sat forward, lookin mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Doddz on dis trip fo' realz. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Doddz at Yancy Academy. Is you feelin all right?"

**Hello lovely person! Anyways this was translated by . Check it out it's hella funny. I don't own PJO or the way this was written. The only thing I own is the idea. **


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